


He Won't Want To Call Me Mary

by killajokejosie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Day Dreaming, Defensively Heterosexual John Watson, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fluff and Angst, I don't want to tag this, John Makes Deductions, M/M, Mary is a boss, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock's Violin, Tags May Change, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:57:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killajokejosie/pseuds/killajokejosie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary has a secret, but this secret is more of a hidden lust and less of a bombshell. However, she is pretty sure that John will take it in the same way he originally took learning about what she had done in the past...or maybe worse. Sherlock, he will probably just laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drive Me Mad

**Author's Note:**

> I'm American, bored, and have no beta. I am sorry about that. Just wanna get these first few paragraphs down. Will update and fix later.
> 
> This story is partially inspired by "Problem" by Natalia Kills.

Mary was driving herself insane. Literally. It was stupid, beyond ridiculous, and could quite possibly get her smacked if she opened up about it. Still, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it, he made her tingle. And now, here he was, sitting in a chair with his knees against his chest, completely oblivious to the fact that she was having these awful, dirty thoughts.  _Why would he notice?_ She thought. This was his flat and he wasn't going out of his way to make any deductions about her.

Her husband came back into the sitting room. He handed them both their tea and then took a seat in the armchair that was his. She felt flushed, almost as if somehow he knew what she was thinking. He could have, especially with the way his dark blues grazed over her frame.

She didn't dare look at the fantastically long, pale figure in the chair for an amount of time that elapsed more than five seconds. Any longer and she would be questioned. It was hard, though, and she was able to admit that to herself. 

Her husband, whom she did actually love, and his best friend with the luxurious fingers drifted off into a deep conversation about how they were going to deal with their current case. Mary, on the other hand, drifted off into thoughts about a terribly explicit encounter with ten nimble extensions off two wonderful hands.

"Mary?" She heard a male voice speak her name, but it didn't snap her out of her daydream.  _What have I even been looking at?_

Snap. Snap. Someone was definitely snapping their fingers in front of her face. They were trying to bring her out of it. 

"Mary," It was him this time. She could tell by the way his wet baritone made her shudder.

"What? What did I miss?" She asked. 

"Everything. We didn't realize that you weren't listening until Sherlock asked you a question about shoes."

"Shoes? What about them?" She asked nervously as she tapped the heels of her black heeled boots together.

"What kind would you wear if you were going to be wearing a uniform for a service job? Undercover, so you would want to blend in." Sherlock repeated the words that she had previously missed. She had to work even harder to keep from returning to sexual thoughts now that he was speaking. The perverse side of her pulled out all of the fragments that could have been made naughty.

"Flats?"

"Even at a place with potentially wet flooring?" She heard it all, she processed it all, but Sherlock had just said 'wet', which was exactly what she was trying to avoid becoming. 

"Like a cafe or a McDonald's," John clarified.

"Non slip soles, something comfortable. Why, are you planning on sending me undercover? Because I don't even like the way I treat service employees and I treat them pretty darn good."

"Don't worry, we are not sending you to that place," Sherlock assured her. He was now sitting on the sofa beside her, causing her to live through one of her fears as their fingers brushed when they had their hands close.

"I don't know why, but those words don't have me convinced," She laughed, halfheartedly.

***

"Are you alright? You were dazed there, for a while." John asked as he buckled the seat belt on the passenger side of their car.

"Huh, oh, yeah, of course I am alright. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing important," She was only lying in part.

"Mary, you just turned down the wrong street,"

She looked up. She had no idea how she hadn't noticed that. Her thoughts were just too far gone.

"Well, we can still get home this way," She laughed.

They didn't say another word to each other for the rest of the drive. They went inside silently. They even went to bed silently. John apparently had nothing to say to her and even if he had, she probably would not have been able to come up with a coherent response. 

She did love John, really. There was no doubt about that. She would do anything for him, even if it put her in harms way. But, for whatever reason, she could not shake the arousing combination of green-blue-gold eyes and a pen between a pair of all too luscious lips. Sherlock's allure, especially when he was painfully clueless about it, was a force to be reckoned with. 

***

The index and the middle finger on his right hand. Those were her favorites. He pushed them both into her mouth, allowing her tongue to explore every segment and enjoy the salty taste.

He pulled them out, slowly. He ran his own tongue along them and tasted her saliva. The corners of his pretty mouth turned up in the beginnings of a smile. The whole process was devilishly seductive, gaining the most reaction from her when the pink tongue she loved to watch darted in between his two fingers, causing them to part slightly.

Without warning, he flipped up her skirt. His crafty hands were on her thighs and had moved her into a position that was completely unforgiving. The two long, pale fingers found their way inside of her. He wasn't gentle, but she had never wanted him to be. 

She shrieked. His hands were much colder than her entire body. She was on fire. He pulled his fingers out, tasting them once more. The wink he added in only made her shudder with a higher intensity.

Then she woke up, in a cold sweat. She swallowed hard and glanced over at her still sleeping husband. He was talking in his sleep, stirring lightly. 

"Sher...I don't think we should do it...what would Mary say?"

She couldn't help the wicked smile that came over her face. This was a new development. If John was dreaming about Sherlock in ways that were at all similar to her she could use this to her advantage. This was the third night this week that she had had a dream like that. Something needed to be done. The consulting detective was the key in all of this. 


	2. I Am A Hunter

"You were dreaming about Sherlock," She said as John buttoned his shirt. 

He stopped with five buttons to go. "What did you say?"

"I sat that you were dreaming about Sherlock last night. You talk in your sleep sometimes, last night was one of those times. Said his name, more than once." She told him.

"Did I say anything else?"

"Something about you not being able to do it because I would probably not approve. Are you having sex dreams about Sherlock?" She knew what he was going to say, at least in part, but she asked anyways.

"I am not gay, nor have I ever been, or do I ever plan to be. Why would I be having sex dreams about my best friend?"

"Just because he is your best friend," She shrugged. "Weirder things have happened."

"You are a strange and wonderful woman," John said into her ear before kissing her on the cheek.

_You think you know. You have no idea._

He left the room to finish getting ready. She just shook her head. So much for solving her problem quickly. Odds are she would be spending yet another night having naughty dreams about a coat with high cheekbones. 

John popped his head back into the room. "Are you going to get dressed? We are meeting Sherlock in less than an hour?"

"Right, right. Great." She mumbled to herself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing,"

"You have been pulling that a lot lately,"

"I was really just thinking again, that is all,"

***

She never thought that there would come a point in her life where she found butter sexy. Technically, it was not so much the butter as it was the lovely, fluid movements and the knife that it took to use the butter. He was so very careful in the way he did it. Almost everything he did looked effortless.

She hadn't realised the exten of which she was staring. His brightly colored eyes caught hers. He followed her gaze completely, even when he sucked a spot of butter off of his hand that hadn't made it to the toast. She couldn't tell if he had caught on, but she did know that she was in way too deep.

"Mary, is the butter distracting in some way?" He said in that dangerous voice of his.

"Oh, Sherlock, I am fine,"

"You are lying,"

"You will drop it,"

"No, I will bring John into the conversation when we go sit down with him and we will get to the bottom of this, together."

She nodded. If she protested there was a pretty good chance that he would become more suspicious. If that happened he would certainly push to find out more and he would. Then again, he was probably already aware of what was running through her head, in part, simply because of who he was. He might have just wanted her to say it.

John looked at them both. "Care to explain why the two of you look like the cats that ate the canaries?"

"No," She said simply. 

"Yes," Sherlock followed.

"Want to pick one?"

"Yes," She sighed. "I am to admit that I am distracted. I should probably tell you why I have been like this since you are my husband. I have felt a bit distant since we lost our daughter, we need to find that one thing that brings us back together fully."

John's face went from confused to saddened. He took both of Mary's hands, intertwining their fingers. "I will do anything for you. I will do whatever it takes. You are my wife."

Mary's eyes traveled over to Sherlock. "I hope you know what you are saying,"

"I love you, Mary Watson, nothing is too much for you,"

***

"You were talking in your sleep again, John. Are you sure that you don't fancy a shag with a consulting detective?" She asked, smothering the laugh that bubbled up inside of her upon seeing her blushing husband.

"I think I have made myself clear on the subject," John groaned.

"We could always invite him into our bed? It would spice things up and relieve your sexual tension." Mary suggested on a long shot.

John sipped his tea. "Umm...no?"

"Okay,"

"Do you fancy a shag with Sherlock?" John asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Of course not, are you crazy?"

"Then it is settled. We will not be having a threesome with Sherlock Holmes or anyone like him. Sound good?"

"Sure. Sounds great." She quickly checked the time on her mobile. She was beginning to feel a wave of unsettled nerves wage war within her. She ran a hand through her blonde hair. Coming up with an excuse to leave. "Oh! I have to get going. Birthday planning with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson."

"That is weird. My birthday? Who decided this?" He sound defensive, or even jealous.

"I am sorry, daddy. I should have asked you before hand. Can I please go play with Sherlock today?" She imitated a childish tone.

"You just made it so creepy. Don't do that. Go on, go play with...go party plan with Sherlock."

"Thank you, love," She said as the feelings of guilt just began to wash over. She kissed him deeply and walked out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two chapters move quickly, but it changes after. I want this to be a beautiful mess.


	3. The Revolution Will Be Televised From A Bedroom

Sherlock opened the door in response to the persistent knock. He looked down at the pretty ex-assassin and smiled. It was obvious that he was trying to read her. He always was.

"Mary? I wasn't expecting you." He said in a slightly hushed tone.

"I know, but I needed to see you," She carefully thought about what she was going to say next. "About John's birthday."

He was done trying to see into her mind. He moved out of the way and allowed her to enter the sitting room silently. She sat down in his chair, crossed her legs, and shot him down with the dark arrow intent in her eyes. Of the may ways this incident could play out she wanted the best one.

Sherlock awkwardly sat down in John's chair. He could smell the doctor's clean scent, causing his nostrils to flare. Mary saw this. She bit her bottom lip and held back the one thing she knew she couldn't say.

She knew enough about body language to know that he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He shifted, crossed his legs, and placed his hands on his higher knee. There was fear. The kind of fear that only showed itself when someone was failing at hiding something. She knew the look, she had hidden everything in her past. He was afraid that she already knew and could see past his mask, which she was sure that she did, to his troublesome secret.

"So, about the birthday," His tone had a level of wonder in it. Her husband was the only person that could bring that out of him. 

"Yes, any ideas?" 

He was now on the edge of the seat cushion, looking right into her eyes. He moved his left hand over her knee to hold himself up. His head was cocked to the side ever so slightly and his breathing seemed irregular. This was strangely perfect.

Her heart began to race. She hurried to find something to focus on besides the man in front of her.  _What is he trying to do?_

"I had not given this much thought, honestly. Birthday celebrations are trivial, I have been over it before. However, considering the amount of time that he has spent here as of late, I could think of no better way to thank him for his time and skill set." Sherlock said with an ever present shakiness in his words.

"A party here, right?"

"No, no,"

"No?"

"No party here, if we are to celebrate John's birthday then it should not be planned directly under his nose,"

Mary nodded. Unfortunately, it made perfect sense. As of right now, with him looking so unsure of himself, she couldn't disagree with him. It was terrifying what he was able to do to her without even trying.

"Oh, okay," Mary muttered her response and placed her hand on top of his.

He twisted his hand around, grabbing her wrist. His blues found her. His expression said everything. He was asking her a question. 

She yanked her hand away and tucked it with the other in her lap. He was still staring at her, furrowed brow.

He bit his bottom lip. It wasn't sexual, but rather a thinking bite. It didn't matter. She still found teeth pushing lightly into a plump bottom lip incredibly sexy.

He blinked and turned towards the fireplace. "What do you think our dear John would like for his birthday?" 

"A baby," Mary knew that for certain. Ever since they lost their daughter it had been quite clear that John had waited for the day she had good news. It hadn't came and it wasn't for a lack of trying.

"We don't have that kind of time,"

Mary laughed. "I know, Sherlock. I understand the concept."

"Is there anything else?"

"He would enjoy spending time with you, with no experiments or unsolved cases to worry about,"

He decided it was safe to look her in the eyes again. "Mycroft, owes me a favor, do you think that John would be interested in the idea of adoption? It could be quicker than trying to make one on your own."

"Good job at completely avoiding comment on my suggestion,"

He huffed. "Answer me and I will further embark on the previous conversation,"

"He might,"

"I love John. He is my best friend. I would enjoy, or at least pretend to, doing anything with him."

"Then it is settled," Mary stood up to leave. She became very aware of her poor choice to wear a skirt with these particular knickers. Even with the nylons on there wasn't a whole lot left to the imagination.

Sherlock's eyes darted to the floor. He had no intentions of looking up at her from his current perched position. Had she been a bit more ladylike she would have caught herself and realised that in certain clothes she needed to calculate her movements a bit more precisely.

She held her hand out for him. He took it and allowed her to help him back to his feet. The situation wasn't as difficult then. The situation could be controlled. She was getting too close to him and the more she tried to widen the space between them, the more she ended up bridging the gap.

She saw him swallow. His mouth was dry. She attempted to have her smile come across as assuring, but doubt rose in her mind on whether or not she was truthfully capable of such a look. The conclusion was, probably not.

Unsure of what to do or how to react in the heat of this strange moment, Sherlock placed a large hand on Mary's right hip. He squeezed, just enough to steady himself.

Mary had another one of her only bright on occasion ideas. She acted on her unexplainable desires. She kissed him. Scary thing was that he kissed her back.

He moved his hand underneath her chin. Then something clicked in his over sized brain: his best friend's wife had just tried to kiss him. What was even worse was that he reciprocated, despite all of the warning signs that should have been making themselves known at that particular moment. 

"Mary, you need to leave. You need to return to your flat where your husband who loves you very much is residing at. This. This is wrong." He whispered as he pushed her away, his hands on her shoulders to keep her at bay.

She knew it was wrong. She was the one who had been battling with the unrequited attraction to a man who was practically asexual and most definitely not the gentle soul she had married. He never had to deal with this pain that was building and building with each passing day, each passing dream. He could control his urges for his desired companion. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. It was not meant to turn into what her brain could only label as 'three is a party'. It was meant to be her and her husband, who occasionally spent time with the eccentric resident of Baker Street.

"I won't leave until you tell me why you did it back,"

His eyes squinted in the way they had the first time the two of them spoke privately. He was trying to work his art of deduction to figure her out. Only this time, he already knew everything there was to know. It did not compute with him. He could not even process why he did what he did. Actions speaking louder than words was becoming a very real instance. 

"Then you won't be leaving," He finally spoke. As a statement, not a question.

"And why is that?"

"Because I do not believe I am able to explain myself with words,"

"Could you at least try?"

"That is the thing, Mary," He paused, took a deep breath, and chose his words very carefully. "But perhaps, I can show you why I did what I did?"

Mary's heart fluttered. She didn't care if his next moves were part of a pent up aggression he had or if he had some legitimate feelings for her. She just wanted this. She wanted him. She would have him, for all he was worth. He would become the thing that kept her whole.

"Oh yes, please do," Mary urged the long limbed beast of a man in front of her to do exactly as he pleased.

She was not Mrs. Watson right now. She was just Mary, even if that wasn't even her given name.

He was not Sherlock Holmes right now. He was just a boy who fell in love in spite of himself, waited too long to act on it, and found comfort in the arms of a woman who thought like him.

He pulled her chin up to meet him in a light kiss. Before his tri colored, soul stealing eyes closed she saw the words 'I want to destroy you' in them. If that was the way things went, it was fine with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll clean this up later...


	4. Who Is Controlling Who?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible at this, so...I'm sorry...I will apologize until the end of time.

From the moment that he lifted her up into his strong arms it was too late. There was no turning back. They were embarking on a journey that could ruin their lives forever. 

Once she was lying on her back wearing nothing on top, but her bra, it was like she had been transported into a dimension that had previously only existed in her dreams. Her hair was a mess, her blouse worse for wear, and one of her earrings was missing in the vast abyss of the detective's room. It was wonderful. It was all wonderful.

He lifted himself up off of the bed. He used his swift hands to rid his body of clothes. He was just as expected, magnificent. She scanned her eyes all over his lean frame. Everything she saw was delicious. He was a work of art.

_This is Sherlock Holmes._

This was the man she had spent so many nights thinking about. He was beautiful, everything about him was, including the bobbing erection in between his legs. 

He crawled on to the bed beside her. She caught him by the mouth, yanking his body flush against hers. The kisses became frantic, fueled by lust neither of them could control. He worked her legs free of her nylons and knickers, teasing her skin with the tips of his fingers as he moved.

_His tongue. My god, his fucking tongue._

His talented mouth paved his way to her warmth. He kissed, licked, and nibbled his way up her leg, across her hip, and down just a bit further. He ran his tongue slowly down to her opening. She shuddered. He jutted inside of her, ever so slightly, then went back to focus on her clit. He kissed it before she pushed his head down further. This was no time to be gentle. She would direct him if she had to. His tongue went back to work, this time with the added help of his brilliant fingers.

She screamed for him. Tingles shooting off like sparks from the center of her being. He may have been a little clumsy, but he knew just where to touch her. Her insides were on fire because of him. He had the map to her pleasure.

Both of her hands clawed into his back. She used the strength she was given from blessed genetics and years of field work to lay him flat on the mattress. Control had switched hands rather quickly. He wanted it.

"You can do whatever you want to me, but this is the one thing that is mine," She told him as she gave him a tight squeeze with her thighs. 

He just nodded. She grabbed the thickest part of his shaft and lead it deep inside of her. She took a second to reach back and unhook her bra. She tossed it to the side and replaced the cups with Sherlock's wonderfully teasing hands. His thumbs grazed over the perky part of her nipples, somehow knowing she wanted that. 

_Deduce this, Mr. Holmes._

She rocked her hips. There was no need to take things slowly anymore. He thrusted his hips upwards as she moved against him, finding creative ways to be even deeper inside of her. The tension was building. The tension was everything. 

He worked her harder. No remorse. He pulled her down into a kiss, running a hand through her blonde hair. "Fuuck..." He breathed into her ear before teasing it with his teeth and tongue. 

His name ripped from her. Soaking wet, soaking him, she came in a rippling orgasm that caused her collapse and his own finish. 

They were tangled, a collection of white limbs against fine fabrics. 

***

"How long have you been in love with John?" Mary asked as she took a drag of the cigarette that neither of them should have been smoking.

"What?" Sherlock tried to pretend he had no idea what the woman in his bed had actually said, but he clearly had forgotten that she could always see right through him.

"Don't play dumb, just answer the question. It isn't like I am going to run and tell someone."

He cleared his throat. He wasn't in the least bit interested in answering the question, but he was going to. He moved on to his side and propped himself up on his elbow. The length of the silence that he spent looking right into her all seeing eyes was just enough time for him to come up with a calculated response. 

Of course, this was not just any subject and not just any person. He felt like he was choking. There was no air.

"I just slept with you, Sherlock. Do you honestly think I am going to spill any information regarding what has or will go on in this room? What I did will always be something for you to hold over my head."

He wetted his lips with his tongue. "With that, you may also use this against me. It would be just as easy to hold this over my head and easier still to word it as if it were my idea."

"I am not going to do that,"

"I know," He replied in a much softer tone as he lit another.

"Then why can't you just tell me the one thing that I know you have been dying to get off your chest. You weren't getting off with me earlier, you were getting off with John. So, back to the question I previously asked you, how long have you been in love with John?"

His eyes were closed. Tightly. He could easily go into the depths of his vast mind and pick out one moment with John that stood out apart from all of the rest, but that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted an answer fit for a queen.

"I fall in love with John Watson all the time, because he is always defying what I already know about him and making it better. He is everything, completely. He is everything that I am not. The first time he saved my life was when I began to fall, have been falling ever since. You know how I am as far as emotions and sentiment go, this is hard for me to say or even think of in a tangible light."

"I know,"

"What will you tell John?"

"Nothing. He doesn't need to know about this in any way. We were just party planning. This was a one time thing. I fulfilled a fantasy and you released your tension. We are good."

She was lying again. It was so easy to fall back into a chain of it that she almost hadn't even noticed. The whole time that they were talking she was admiring his nakedness that was covered only in part by a loosely draped dressing gown. His body was hauntingly alluring in the afterglow.

That wasn't the end of it. She was still incredibly fond of him. She was still feeling the burning desire that had flooded her wild dreams. It was not just his body, though, it was his mind as well. 

She loved him. 

She was completely and totally in love with him. Sherlock had somehow managed to fill an empty space she had in her heart from the moment that John found out her secret. It had only gotten worse upon losing their child and yet, somehow, magically, it was as if it was gone in a flash.

She loved him. She loved her husband. He loved her husband. Her husband loved him, but hand't realized it yet. She was certain that her husband still loved her, but Sherlock was always going to be the first. It was a beautiful fucking mess and sorting it all out was going to be the best part of it. 

His hand, still ice cold, found its way to her thigh. "I was not thinking of him,"

"Hmm?" He brought her out of her strange string of thoughts. 

"I could have been thinking about him. You thought that I was, but I was right here in the moment with you. You should never think so lowly of yourself."

She happened to find this part of him quite simply amazing, and amusing. "You aren't so inhuman after all, you know?"

His hand went further up her thigh, brushing the juncture where her leg met her womanhood. Shivers ran up her spine instantly. 

"Perhaps, this isn't supposed to be a one time thing?" 

The nimble fingers massaged her, eventually sliding inside. She reached over and grabbed a tight hold of his prick, helping it spring to life once more. She didn't know what had got into him, but she was not about to refuse it. 

There was no rest for the wicked, or the two temporary lovers who originally fell in love with the same person. 


	5. Slipping In A Quick Word While The Wolf Is Away

Mary returned home to her husband. She was exhausted, but everything felt seemingly better. She no longer felt like she was living with this crazy weight on her shoulders. If anything, this helped their relationship, at least that was what she was telling herself. Of course, John didn't suspect a thing. She wouldn't have it any other way. 

"Are you even going to give me the slightest hint at what you two were up to? I need to know so I can be prepared for unusual birthday shenanigans."

She pursed her lips. "Unusual birthday shenanigans?"

"The two most interestingly out-of-the-box people I know are working on a surprise for me, I have every right to believe that it will involve something unusual." John replied with a hearty laugh.

"What if it was...not unusual?"

"Then I am even more worried because the two of you never do anything that I would consider normal,"

"I see,"

"Mary, don't be like that,"

"I am not being like anything, I am just realising that Sherlock and I need to work harder to throw you off."

He kissed her forehead. His entire body radiated love and happiness. He didn't know it yet, but part of her plans involved getting him to confess his true feelings and this was going to happen whether he wanted it or not. She loved that fool in the guise of a well trained army doctor and being one hundred percent sure that he was happy was the real key. She really did need to work harder.

"I really hate you sometimes, John," She said, really thinking about the subject.

"And, why is that?"

"You are too good for me,"

"I know that is the truth," He replied in a wildly ridiculous tone that was only complimented by some slightly over the top hand gestures, including one on his hip.

"Apparently, you are gay as well," She managed to spit out in the midst of her burst of laughter.

His other hand connected with his hip. "I am not gay!"

"It is really hard to convince someone of that when you are standing like that,"

He moved his arms up to his chest. "There! Happy now!?"

"Yes, I am so very happy to be living with my gay husband, who is gay, gay for his best friend,"

"Oh my, Mary...stop it,"

"I really should," She giggled. "Especially since I need to meet up with my other partner in crime tomorrow,"

"No weird meetings with Sherlock?"

"Nada, babe, nada," She said, walking out of the room with a sultry wink.

***

Molly Hooper, super adorable nerd extraordinaire. Mary loved talking to her. She had the best advice for dealing with Sherlock obsessions and she had definitely been in need of that before. Now, her biggest worry was trying to entertain the idea that John fancied Sherlock and that they needed to get their feelings out in the open. Molly was friends with just about everyone involved in the mad situation. This lead Mary to believe she would have plenty to talk about.

"So, how is married life treating you now that all is quiet on the home front?" She asked Mary in between sips of her dirty hippie. 

Mary hadn't been listening. Her ability to pay attention had been clouded by the fact that she was almost certain there was someone watching them. She might have been crazy, but that wasn't a subject she was keen on exploring in the time being. 

"Mary?" Molly said softly, the sing-song of her voice coming out towards the end.

"Mary Watson?"

Mary finally heard her and turned. "Yes, Molly?"

"Wow, I asked you how married life was treating you? Distracted much?"

"Maybe a little. Married life has been great. However, we both know that I am not here for small talk. I am here to enlist your particular brand of expertise."

"For John's birthday?"

"Yes,"

"Because Sherlock is as helpful as a sack of flour?"

"He is more helpful than flour. Actually, having flour might prove to be more useful since I need to bake a cake, but anyways, Sher is a tad more helpful then one would think. Pretty sure it is simply because it has something to do with John." 

"And, we all know that he loves John," Molly's smile was a bit unnerving.

Mary's eyebrows raised from shock. "How did you know that?"

"Despite Mr. Holmes' best efforts, he is not exactly the king of subtlety...in fact, he is rather blunt." 

"Yet, somehow, John is too dense to see it,"

"It happens. So, what do you need me to do?"

"Well..."

 


	6. Creating Time In Between Rivers

"Kill me, kill me now," Mary said completely to herself. She wasn't one hundred percent sure who she was talking to since she didn't believe in any deity and she was totally alone.

She looked in the mirror, her eyes rough around the edges. The makeup she had spent so much time on was a mess and she resembled a sad raccoon. There was no hope for it now, at least it wasn't running down in streams yet.  

This could have been much worse.

Actually, the odds of it being worse were now slim to none, but she would manage. She always did.

She dabbed around her eyes. At the very least she would be able to contain any dripping. She probably needed to invest in some waterproof mascara, but she would worry about that later. There was a party going on that she had to make an appearance at. 

There was a knock. "Mary? Are you alright?" It was Mrs. Hudson of all people. 

"Yes, I am quite well. I will be out in just a moment."

"Are you sure?" The strange landlady of Sherlock paused. "John is worried."

"If John is so worried, why did he send you to come fetch me?"

"He was deep in some silly heated argument with Sherlock about fibers or something,"

She opened the door to look Mrs. Hudson in the eyes. "Really?"

"Oh dear, you look awful. You haven't been the same since you spent all that time in Sherlock's bed. Is something going on?"

Mary's face went flush. It suddenly felt like all of the blood in her body had rushed to her head. If she hadn't been holding on to the door frame she probably would have passed out cold. No one was supposed to know about what happened between her and the consulting detective with the incredible phalanges.

 _Did he tell her?_ She thought. 

She quickly looked in both directions to ensure the coast was clear and pulled the old woman into the bathroom. "How the hell did you know about that?"

"I was washing dishes. The walls are not soundproof, dear. I didn't hear you arrive, but I did hear your 'activities' and I did see you leave." Mrs. Hudson answered the question with fearful eyes directed towards the woman who was holding her up against the wall.

"Oh my gosh! Have you told anyone that you know?"

"Not a soul, it is none of my business,"

"Good, how about we keep it that way? John cannot know."

"Your secret is safe with me, dear," 

She released her grasp from Mrs. Hudson. She straightened out her dress, did another quick check of her makeup, and braced herself for what was ahead. Surely a table of John's closest friends could not be that bad.

She turned around the corner. The classic burgundy, half circle booth was in her view. Something was off. It was surprisingly empty. Where on earth had all of their guests went?

She brushed the thought from her mind. It didn't matter. She sat down on the far end, trying to remember which drink was hers. Then she looked up. Her jaw dropped, because there was no reaction better suiting to the situation. 

He was kissing Molly. Sherlock Fucking Holmes was snogging with someone that wasn't her. Not to mention, he had not shown any significant amount of love-like interest in the woman he currently had sitting in his lap.

Unfortunately, despite the anger boiling in her veins, she couldn't say a thing. She was married and it was definitely not to him. Speaking of her husband, she needed to find him. Certainly, he could not have gone too far since this was his party.

Sherlock broke the kiss. When his glossy blue-green eyes met hers one thing became clear, he was stinking drunk. The strange actions now had a partial explanation. Usually, Sherlock only drank that much when he was hurting. The good news for her was that she had a pretty good idea as to why he was.

"Mary..." He sighed. Molly had since slid off his lap and he appeared to be on a road to distraction.

Mary was sickened by the sight. Her stomach was twisted in knots. No. That wasn't the cause of it. She was actually sick, like she thought she was going to be before. 

Just like that she found herself hanging over the nearest trash receptacle, hurling all of the contents of her stomach until she was only dry heaving. John was by her side faster than she could say 'Damn you, Sherlock'. Some birthday, she had damn well almost ruined it for him.

Her loving husband lead her back to the booth where only Sherlock remained. He sat down beside her and wrapped one of his comforting arms around her, assurance that he would always be there. Even more so when he handed her water.

"So," He began. "What the hell was that? You have barely drank anything."

She glared at Sherlock with wicked intent. "Sherlock kissed Molly, drunk and leading her on,"

John turned to face Sherlock with his eyebrows raised. He knew that somehow he was the odd man out, kept out of the loop again.

"If you don't mind my asking, why in the hell does that matter in the slightest?"

"It doesn't, at least not really. Well, maybe it does because he would rather be kissing you." By the time she had the chance to realise that she had said the unthinkable, it was already too late.

 Sherlock froze. Even intoxicated he was aware of the words that had left Mary's lips. He felt incredibly small. He didn't understand why she possibly would have revealed that.

John was even more off at that moment. He was trapped, unable to decide what would be the proper reaction. However, it did help for him to know that the feelings he kept hidden from the world were mutual.

"Dammit," Mary huffed. This time the deep sensation in the pit of her stomach brought on because she had betrayed the man who so graciously kept her from falling apart.

"You want to kiss me?" Was all that a baffled doctor could finally get out.

Sherlock nodded. There really wasn't a point of denying the truth after it had been dragged out into the open. He loved John, there was no doubt about that.

John ran his index and middle finger across his bottom lip. "I...I..."

Mary rolled her eyes. He needed to get out with it before it caused him a heart attack or something. "Just say it, out with it, John, it is not going to hurt my feelings,"

"I want to kiss you, too,"

The star crossed lovers finally enjoyed their first kiss. Passion, lust, and love sparked from them like fireworks. Mary just sat back and watched. They were stupid and drunk and this was probably not the end of it. Plus, the end game needed her to end up happy, not alone. She much rather preferred a threesome. 

Of course, there was also the fact that she had slept with Sherlock and considering her last outburst it was safe to say that it wasn't going to stay hidden forever. If this was not approached appropriately John would be speaking to either of them. 

_He won't want to call me Mary._

 


	7. There Are Hands and Then There Are Summers

The morning after John's birthday was strange to say the least. Most mornings when one woke up in a strange place in an odd position were strange. 

Mary sat up. She took a moment to allow her eyes to adjust, finally realising that she was laying on Sherlock's sofa. Mycroft was sitting in the arm chair, sipping tea and watching her wake up. He had always been a little weird, but this just seemed to be a little much for her. 

"Where is my husband?" She asked, groggily.

"Perhaps, you should ask my hungover brother?" He suggested, tilting his head back in the direction of the bedroom.

"They are both in there? Are they naked?" She was experiencing a twinge of worry and excitement at the same time. It was all happening so fast, she wasn't sure where to go from here.

"Not entirely. John appears to have misplaced his shirt though."

She slowly stood up and steadied herself. The nausea that was building with every attempted movement was threatening to knock her over. She found herself incredibly thankful that the bathroom was right next to the room she was goaling for.

It was becoming a little more than obvious as to what was going on. She knew her body and this was not the first time she had gone through this. The symptoms were alarmingly similar. It was a good thing, it was the time frame that was slightly concerning. She hoped it wouldn't prove all that problematic.

She rapped her knuckles lightly against the cracked open door and waited for a response.

"Come in," Said a hazy voice that was rather clearly her husband.

She pushed the door open the rest of the way to reveal the somehow amazing sight laying across the bed. Her half awake husband had his feet hanging off the side and his head at the foot of the mattress. His shirt was nowhere to be found. Sherlock had his feet thrown off the other side, his thick head of curls resting against John's bare stomach. It was sweet, despite it being the result of an alcohol fueled night. 

"Look at my boys," She squealed. "So debauched,"

John groaned. "You are talking really loud,"

She slammed the door. "Am I!?"

Sherlock startled into a sitting position. "Was that necessary?" 

"Completely, actually, since John has to be to work in about an hour," She laughed. She was lying just for the sake of watching them freak out. 

John jumped up and began searching for his button up that he was never going to find. She watched as he scrambled about, turning things over and making a mess of Sherlock's already slightly unorganized room. 

He stopped. He understood. His shoulders dropped. "Bitch,"

"That is no way to talk to your wife," Sherlock groaned. 

"Yeah, what he said," Mary took her hungover husband into a loving embrace. She would find time to apologize to him later. 

She caught the blue-green eyes with flecks of gold staring at her. The peculiar expression he wore was enough to send her gears turning. Last time he looked at her like that they wound up in bed together, which she understood to be a very bad thing.

"Where is my shirt?" John finally asked after the silence murdered everyone else.

"Just barrow one of mine," Sherlock said, being an interesting choice for a voice of reason during an incredibly strange time.

"Your torso is ridiculously long and I am short, I will look foolish,"

"Nonsense, you look foolish most of the time in those silly jumpers you wear, tuck the shirt in," Sherlock giggled. Mary noticed that it must have hurt his head since he was cradling it soon after. 

"Last night was so fuzzy that I can barely remember what pub we went to. All I know is that I am missing my shirt and I want to sleep." John complained.

Mary shook her head. John was a mess and he didn't even know why. Sherlock did though. She could tell that he did. Unfortunately, the nausea took her again and she was hanging over the unforgiving toilet.

For now she would be able to pass it off as a hangover, but hangovers don't last nearly as long as this would. She had to confirm her suspicions first though.

She walked wobbly into the den. All three men directed their attention towards her. She blew her bangs out of her face and sat down.

Back to square one. She had joined John on the sofa, but only looked at Sherlock. Sherlock and John needed to be together on a more than friendly level, but she needed to be underneath Sherlock. She was messed up in the head. She was beginning to believe that she had gone mental.

"Shit," She grumbled under her breath.

"What did you say?" John asked.

"Nothing. Not one word."

***

"Can I use your phone?" Mary asked Detective Inspector Lestrade.

He turned around to face her with a curious look on his face. He was at work and she was the wife of one of his friends. He wasn't even one hundred percent clear on how exactly she had found him in the first place. Plus, he was pretty damn certain that she had her own mobile phone that she could have been using.

"Come again?"

"Can I please use your mobile for something?" She asked Lestrade again, rewording the question in hopes of getting her way.

"Why can't you use yours exactly?"

"Because John and I are on a shared plan and I do not want him to know about my secret yet, just in case the situation changes before I tell him." She explained, which was actually half of the truth.

"Alright, alright," Greg handed his mobile to her and watched her carefully as she typed furiously.

**Sher, it is time for you to head to Barts -Lestrade**

**What is going on? -SH**

**You will find out when you get here. -Lestrade**

**Fine. See you in fifteen. -SH**

**Thanks -Lestrade**

She didn't bother changing the tag. Sherlock was going to be pissed off enough when he found out he had been tricked.

Mary handed the device back to Lestrade after erasing the messages. She thanked him with a smile and went along her way. Molly wasn't expecting her, but then again she wasn't expecting Sherlock, either.

***

Molly was silent. She simply observed a very antsy Mary pacing back and forth in the lab. She was almost afraid to ask why she was there. She would have remained silent had the pacing not been driving her mildly out of her mind.

"Can you stop that and tell me what the hell is going on with you? Why are you here?" She asked.

"If I told you, you would probably hate me and never want to speak to me again," Mary mumbled.

Sherlock busted in at just that moment. "Where is Lestrade?"

"He isn't here,' Molly replied.

"What do you mean? He sent me a text telling me to come here as soon as I could." 

Mary shuffled her feet. "Actually, the messages were from me. I needed to get you somewhere where we could speak in private. I didn't use my phone because I didn't want there to be any chance that John would find out about this." 

"What? Why couldn't you just come to the flat?" 

"Because John could have been there and we need to speak in private,"

Sherlock glared at Molly with no emotion or regard for her feelings. "Could we have a moment? Now?" 

"Yes, yes, of course," 

"Okay, what do we need to talk about? Fancy another shag?" Sherlock laughed, showing off just how uncomfortable he actually was.

 "That is not funny. This isn't a laughing matter, either, Sherlock." 

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Please tell me what is going on, Mary," 

"Well, Sherlock, I'm pregnant, for starters," She whispered.

His eyes lit up. "John will be very happy," 

"Oh, I am sure that he will be, but odds are that his tone will change if the baby comes out with curly brown hair and sharp cheekbones or one of the doctors mention the relative conception date. He will go on a rampage. He will kill me, divorce me, and kill me again. I can't exactly throw you into the line of fire, because it will ruin everything we have been working towards."

Sherlock backed up into the nearest wall. He pushed his hands against his face, peering out in between his fingers. The painful reality of his actions sunk in slowly. This all felt like a terrible dream. Now, neither of them would be able to have John.

"Are you okay, Sherlock? I mean, if we are incredibly lucky then we won't have to tell him. Even if the baby resembles you, John doesn't know what my family looks like so I might be able to play it off. He will never suspect you. I promise."

His arms dropped limply at his sides. "There is just one problem with all of that,"

"What would that be?"

"It is my baby. I don't want to be in a position where I can't be in his or her life. The question of blood types and suitable organ donors would also be something to look into."

Mary took both of Sherlock's hands and pressed them against her stomach. This was the the only legitimate response she could produce. She hadn't even considered the fact that the detective might not want to sit back and watch from the sidelines. 

"Yes, I want to be a parent, I know it is alarming, but it is true," 

The lovely and nosy Miss Hooper strutted back into the room. She smacked Sherlock hard across the face and shook Mary by the shoulders, practically violently. 

"You are both stupid, do I even want to know why this happened?" 

"So much for privacy," Mary grumbled. 

 


End file.
